Unfinished Business
by N'kala
Summary: Sequel to Time Bomb. Carroway's back, and this time he's playing for keeps.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Unfinished Business

**Author:** N'kala99

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine!

**Summary:** Carroway's back, and this time he's playing for keeps.

**Author's Notes:** This story is for all of you who asked for a sequel to _Time Bomb_. Thank you so much for your reviews! I hadn't planned on a sequel, but this idea popped into my head, and it worked so well that I decided to go ahead with it. I hope you enjoy it! Major thanks to Bloodsuckers37 for being the beta! 

Unfinished Business 

By: N'kala

**Chapter One**

Charlie took the last few steps at top speed, landing on the floor with a loud _thud_. Without losing momentum, he skirted around his father, who had been passing by, and darted into the living room to collect some books that had been left there.

"Take it easy, Charlie!" Alan called after him, hiding his amusement carefully. "The books aren't going to get up and walk away!"

"Sorry, Dad," Charlie said, barely looking up from his search. "I'm running a little behind. Don's coming any moment to pick me up, and I need to be ready to go."

Alan allowed a small smile to slip through his mask. "You boys have fun at that conference. I know New York City is interesting, but try and stay out of trouble, okay?"

Charlie paused to smile innocently at his father. "Trouble? Us?"

Alan's smile turned into a smirk as Charlie, laden with a pile of books and folders, darted back up the stairs. Charlie had been excited upon being invited to speak at some math convention in New York City three weeks ago. At some encouragement from Alan, Charlie had hesitantly asked if Don wanted to join him. Don, though not at all thrilled with the idea of being stuck at a weeklong conference with a bunch of mathematicians, had agreed under the condition that the only lecture he would have to attend would be his brother's. The mere consent at going had elevated Charlie's excitement to sheer delight. It had been all he had talked about since.

The front door opened, jarring Alan from his thoughts. He turned and smiled at his firstborn. "Donnie, right on time."

Don didn't return the smile. Alan took note of the business suit his eldest child wore, and he felt his own smile slip from his face. "Oh, no, Donnie, don't tell me . . ."

Don glanced up the stairs, then turned back to Alan. "New case just came up. I can't get out of it. I'm on my way to the office now. I just stopped by to break the news to Charlie."

"Don, your brother has been looking forward to this conference ever since you told him you would go," Alan lightly admonished him. "He's going to be disappointed."

"I know!" Don replied. "I don't want to do this to him, but it's out of my hands."

"Don!"

Both men looked up as Charlie hurried down the stairs again, eyes bright with anticipation. "Sorry I'm not ready. I just need to grab a couple more things and . . ." He trailed off and frowned in confusion. "What's going on?"

Alan shot Don a pointed look and moved away. Don sighed and faced his younger brother.

"Something's come up at the office, Buddy," he said. "Looks like I'm not going to be able to go with you to New York."

"Oh." Charlie nodded, jamming his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Big case?"

"Yeah, serial arsonist," Don replied. "He's already killed about thirteen people. I'm sorry for backing out on this . . ."

Charlie shook his head. "Hey, don't worry about it. This is more important. Maybe next time."

Don smiled at him. "Count on it, Buddy. Have a good time."

Charlie nodded, a fleeting smile gracing his lips. "Yeah, good luck with the arson case. Let me know if I can help."

Don playfully punched Charlie on the arm, waved at their father, and headed out the door. Charlie watched him go silently, then turned and headed back up the stairs.

Alan moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up. "You need a ride to the airport?"

Charlie paused. "Uh, yeah, I do. Thanks, Dad. I'll be down in a couple seconds."

"Take your time." Alan sighed inwardly at the sudden lack of enthusiasm in his son. He hoped that the rest of the conference went better for him.

* * *

Don flashed his ID at the security guard, barely slowing down for the security gate to open. Shutting it firmly behind him, he headed deeper into the bullpen where his team was already assembled and waiting for him.

Terry joined him halfway. "How'd he take it?"

Don barely noted how Terry always seemed to know what was on his mind. "He seemed to take it just fine. Dad was worried, but come on. A week with math geeks? How disappointed do you think he's going to be without me?"

Terry wisely chose not to comment. She had observed Charlie the past few months and felt she had a pretty good idea of what he was feeling now, but she also knew better than to point it out to Don.

Don strode into the conference room, casting a quick glance around at the faces of the agents assembled as he moved to the front. Terry moved to a chair towards the head of the table and watched as Don drew the attention of everyone in the room.

"Okay, what have we got?" he asked.

David Sinclair straightened in his chair. "Four buildings have burned under mysterious circs: the English department at UCLA, an administrative office at CalTech, the clinic just down the corner from CalTech, and the latest, at Briar Community College. No apparent links between any of the sites except for some strange remnants of what looks like an explosive device, except we have no conclusive proof that that is what it was."

Don flipped through the file in front of him. "And of the thirteen victims, seven died at the clinic, five at the admin office, and a homeless man at Briar?"

David nodded.

"Any suspects?" Terry asked.

"None yet," Rick Larson spoke up. "We've gone over our interviews with the survivors and witnesses, but there doesn't seem to be any connection."

Don closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair. "Then I guess we have our work cut out for us. We're gonna split these four scenes between us, and we're going to run down every possible lead we find. No matter how small, how insignificant, run it down. The connection is there somewhere. David, you're going to head up the team going over at UCLA. Collins, Jackson, and Brandt, you're with him. Terry, you've got the admin office. Richardson, Gomez, and Gallant, you're on it, too. Larson, you take Zimmerman, Mallory, and Adams and go over the clinic. The rest of you, you're with me at the Briar. Let's see what we can come up with."

The agents immediately broke into their respective teams, anxious to get back to work. Don entertained a fleeting thought about the math conference and Charlie, but quickly dismissed it from his mind as he got to work with his team.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

Charlie stared listlessly out the window as his plane soared thousands of feet in the air. There were thick clouds blocking his vision of the land far below, but he paid them no notice. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

He knew he was being selfish. Don had his own responsibilities to the FBI that certainly took precedence over a math conference. Given the choice between the safety of the people in LA or taking a brief vacation, Charlie knew that he would have made the same decision as Don. That didn't make the resulting feelings any easier.

"This is your captain speaking. We're beginning our approach to LaGuardia airport. Please return to your seats and trays to their upright positions, secure all loose items, and fasten your safety belts."

The gentle chime of the seatbelt sign echoed the announcement, and Charlie shook himself from his thoughts long enough to fasten his seatbelt. After several moments, he felt his stomach flutter and his ears pop as the plane began its descent.

All around the cabin, passengers spoke with one another, gathering their possessions together into one pile. Charlie had his computer notebook sitting on his lap, his notes for his presentation on the screen. As he switched the computer off and packed it away, he realized he had spent the entire flight from LAX to LaGuardia without reading so much as a word from it. He resolved himself to looking over his presentation in his hotel room that night so that he would be prepared for his presentation the next day.

The plane taxied on the ground for nearly fifteen minutes before reaching its destination. The minute the seatbelt sign was off (and maybe sooner than that), people were up on their feet and reaching into overhead compartments for the rest of their belongings. Charlie stood as well, squeezing into the crowded aisle.

Having been to LaGuardia several times before, Charlie knew what to expect when he reached the concourse. People of all nationalities filled the airport, all there for various purposes. Charlie suppressed a sigh as he fought past a reunited couple and an excited group of friends, his spirits still low.

Something in the corner of his eye pulled him up short, and he stopped. Mumbling an apology to the man behind him, he stepped aside and looked around for what had drawn his attention.

A tall man, dressed in a navy blue business suit and sedate red tie stood near a row of chairs. He wore dark sunglasses, and in his hands he held a simple white sign bearing the name 'Eppes'. Frowning in confusion, Charlie headed over to the man.

The man smiled and nodded at Charlie. "Dr. Charles Eppes?"

Charlie nodded. "I didn't know the conference was sending someone to come get me."

The man lowered his sign. "Last minute change, sir. They decided to greet all their presenters this way. I'll show you to the car."

Charlie hesitated. "My bags . . ." he said.

"My friend's getting them," the man replied easily. "He's meeting us there. Shall we?"

Something was bothering Charlie about this man and his story; something he couldn't entirely explain. There was something about him that was familiar to Charlie, but he just couldn't place it. Something was not quite right about this man.

He pushed the thought away. _I've been spending too much time with Don_, he thought to himself.

Pasting a smile on his face, Charlie gestured forward. "After you."

* * *

Don sighed wearily as he shuffled through his notes on the case. He and his team had been working on their new assignments within the arson case almost nonstop since the day before, breaking only for the night before returning bright and early the next morning. The four groups had amassed plenty of information on each of their sites; all that was left now was to sift through it.

And sift they did. Don felt as if he were about to go blind after staring at page after page of insurance claims, witness accounts, financial records, and past employee files of the old abandoned college. So far, nothing seemed pertinent to their case.

A cell phone chirped on the other side of the room, causing the agents in the conference room to jerk in surprise. Don looked up, annoyance tugging at his features. "Someone get that."

Heads turned and papers shuffled across the table. Terry stood and moved to Don's suit jacket, which he had abandoned on the other side of the room long ago. "Don, it's you."

Frowning in confusion, Don stood and joined Terry by his jacket. Digging his cell out of his pocket, he flipped it open. "Eppes."

"Donnie, have you heard from your brother?"

It took Don's muddled brain a minute to place the voice. "Dad?"

"Yes, Donnie, have you heard from Charlie?"

Don ran a hand through his hair. "No, Dad, I haven't. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Your brother was supposed to call me when he checked into his hotel yesterday, and he never did," Alan stated, his voice revealing anxiety. "Did he call you?"

"No, Dad, but I'm sure he's fine," Don replied calmly. His thoughts kept drifting back to his case, wanting to get back to work. "You know how Charlie can get."

"Don, he never showed up for his presentation."

_That_ brought Don fully into focus. "What?"

Alan let out a huff of air. "The conference people called and said they were sorry he missed coming to present. They said they haven't heard anything from him."

Don caught Terry's inquisitive gaze and held up a hand. "Well, I'm sure there's an explanation-."

"I called the hotel he was supposed to stay at, and he never checked in," Alan pressed. "No one remembers anybody fitting Charlie's description coming into the hotel last night or today."

"So, what, you think something's happened?" Don asked. "Maybe he decided to just skip out of going to the conference altogether and forgot to tell you or anyone else."

"I hope that's all it is, Donnie," Alan replied, his voice belying reluctance. "If you hear from him-."

"I'll make sure he calls you," Don finished. "Dad, he's fine. Trust me."

"What was that all about?" Terry asked as Don hung up and put his phone back into his pocket.

Don made a face and shook his head. "Charlie didn't show up for the conference. Dad's pretty worried about it, but Charlie's fine."

Terry didn't appear as unconcerned as her partner. "Are you sure?"

Don sighed. "Not really, but what could happen? It's just a conference. He probably decided to do something more fun."

He ignored Terry's worried frown as he returned to his seat. He had just picked up the file on top of his stack of papers when David suddenly burst into the room with Larson right on his heels.

"Don!" David exclaimed, holding up a thick manila envelope. "This just came for you. It was attached to a piece of debris from the UCLA scene."

Don frowned as he took the envelope. "You test it?"

Larson nodded. "No prints, nothing dangerous about the envelope. We thought we'd let you see what's inside."

Don squeezed the middle of the envelope, allowing the slit at the top to expose the contents. A Polaroid fluttered face down to the table, along with a small, yellow piece of paper folded in half once. Don lifted the photo and turned it over. Almost instantly, the color drained from his face.

"Don?" Terry asked, concerned. "What is it?"

Don ignored the question and reached for the paper. Opening it, his brown eyes scanned the brief message. Tossing the note back onto the table and gripping the photo tightly in his right hand, he stood and stormed out of the conference room.

David retrieved the note and read it aloud for the rest of the room to hear. "_Wait for my call. Tonight at seven_." David looked around at the other puzzled faces. "Why would the arsonist want to call Don?"

Terry spun on her heel and followed Don out into the bullpen. Don had managed to walk all the way to the other side of the open room and was standing by a window, staring down at the street far below. His posture was rigid, the photo still clutched in a vise-like grip.

"Don?" Terry asked tentatively. "What is it? What's in the picture?"

Don moved ever-so-slightly at the sound of her voice. "I should have gone. I should have been there."

"Been where?" Terry asked. "What are you talking about? Don, why is the arsonist contacting you?"

Wordlessly, Don thrust the photo at Terry. Terry took it and turned it over in her hands. A gasp escaped her lips.

The photograph showed a dimly lit room, furnished with a table and a single chair. What had stunned Terry, however, was the person sitting in the chair.

Charlie.

He was unconscious, sagging heavily against the bonds that held him tight to the old wooden chair. His head was tipped forward, his unruly locks obscuring most of his face. Terry couldn't tell if he had been hurt or not.

Below the photograph, written in dark crimson ink, was a sequence of numbers. It didn't take a math genius to decipher their meaning.

_72:00:00._

Countdown.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Charlie moaned as consciousness returned. His head was throbbing mercilessly to the beat of his own heart; it seemed as though his brain was threatening to force its way out of Charlie's skull. He tried to lift his hand to his aching head, only to find that he couldn't move.

Panic caused his heart to skip a beat, reducing the pain in his skull to a throb. His breaths came in sharp gasps as he tried to move his hands and arms, twisting his body against the cords that bound him to his chair.

Pausing, Charlie racked his brain for his latest memories. The last thing he remembered was the man who had picked him up offering him a soda. Charlie had finished about half of his drink while waiting for his luggage when he became dizzy. The man had helped him into the backseat of the car, then . . . nothing.

Drugged! But why? Charlie couldn't understand what anyone would want with him. He wasn't working on any consulting cases for any organization, and this was too complicated to be anything random. He was the specific target. He only had to figure out why.

He sat in the dim light, fighting to loosen the cords around his arms and wrists for what seemed like an eternity when the door to his room opened, admitting the man who had picked him up at the airport.

"Well, look who's back among the living!" the man greeted jovially. He set his camera on a nearby table and shut the door. "That sedative I put in your drink must have reacted pretty strongly with your metabolism. You've been out for awhile."

Charlie glared at the man. "Who are you?"

"Names aren't important right now," the man replied dismissively. "I doubt you'll be around long enough for you to even use it."

A chunk of ice dropped into the pit of Charlie's stomach, spreading throughout his body. The fear he felt was reflected in his eyes, despite Charlie's attempts to remain emotionless.

The man lifted his camera and snapped a couple shots of Charlie, then lowered the camera once more. Taking the pictures, he nodded. "I think your brother will like these ones very much."

Charlie gave a start at the mention of his brother. "Don? What do you want with my brother? Whatever it is, he's not going to give it to you."

The man looked up from the Polaroids he had just taken and regarded Charlie with such an icy stare that it sent shivers up his spine. Lowering the pictures, the man advanced slowly on Charlie.

"Your brother is going to let me do _exactly_ what I want," he hissed, his face just inches from Charlie's. "He knows that, if he doesn't, he'll never see you again."

Charlie swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet his captor's steely blue eyes.

The man sneered and retreated. Charlie heaved a silent sigh of relief as his captor exited the room without another word, taking his camera and pictures with him.

More questions swirled around in Charlie's brain, but he pushed them into the back of his mind. He would focus on getting free first, then try and answer his questions later.

* * *

Don sat at his desk, staring intently at his phone. Once the initial shock of Charlie's abduction had worked through his system, Don had returned to the conference room, bellowing order after order to his team to find the connections they were missing. Several more agents were pulled off of the arson case and were presently on their way to New York City to gather more information on Charlie's whereabouts. Once the last order had been given, Don had taken up residency at his desk and hadn't moved or spoken since.

Terry and David sat with him at their own desks, occasionally exchanging concerned glances. They knew that, if it were possible, Don would have been the one to go to New York to look for his brother. But because of the arsonist's impending phone call, Don was stuck waiting in Los Angeles.

He hadn't called his father. He knew Alan would be furious upon finding out that Don was withholding the truth from him, but Don couldn't bring himself to pick up the phone and dial. More than that, Don was afraid of what he would see once the anger faded. He had told Alan not to worry about Charlie, and come to find out that his worries had been founded.

"Don."

Terry's voice. Gentle, insistent, supportive, intrusive to his thoughts. Don answered her with a quiet grunt.

"Don, you should eat something. You haven't eaten all day."

Don didn't reply. He wasn't hungry. He didn't want food. He wanted to find the bastard who had the gall to kidnap his brother and string him up by his entrails.

He heard a rustle of clothes, then Terry's voice again, this time closer than before. "You couldn't have known, Don. There's no way you could have predicted that this would have happened."

"I should have been there," Don finally said, still staring at his phone. "I could have stopped this from happening."

"True," Terry conceded. "Or, you could have been taken right along with him."

"Then he would at least have me there with him, looking out for him," Don pointed out. He shut his eyes and rubbed them wearily. "Dammit, Terry, it was supposed to be some stupid conference. How could this have happened?"

There was silence, then David's voice spoke up. "Have you guys considered the possibility of Carroway's involvement?"

Don finally turned to look at the other agent. "I did think about it, but it's been months. When I first heard about this case, the first thing I did was check on Carroway. He's still locked up."

"Doesn't mean he can't have an accomplice on the outside," Terry pointed out.

Don nodded. "True, but the only similarities we see are college campuses being the focus of the attack. Our arsonist isn't even sticking to the math and science departments; hell, one attack was up the _street_ from a college. If it is a copycat, it's a sloppy one."

"Maybe the arsonist isn't targeting the buildings for the same reason Carroway did," David suggested.

Don sighed heavily and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "This could all be connected or it could be one big coincidence. I feel like I'm missing something important, like it's right in front of my face, and I can't see it."

"You're too close to this, Don," Terry observed quietly, placing a comforting hand on Don's arm. "You're focusing on Charlie right now. After this call comes through, maybe you should think about going home and getting some rest. You can come back tomorrow with a clearer head."

Don sat up abruptly and moved his arm away from Terry. "You really think I'm going to be able to get any sleep while my little brother is at the mercy of God knows what?" he demanded, a little more harshly than he had intended.

Terry was saved from answering as Don's phone rang. She moved out of the way before Don could shove her aside in his haste to reach his phone. "Eppes!"

"Agent Eppes. I'm glad you received my message."

Don's knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. He gestured wildly at Terry to begin the trace. "Where's my brother?"

"You have something I want, Agent Eppes, and I have something you want. That, to me, suggests a trade."

"Listen, whatever you want, just tell me," Don replied. "My brother doesn't have anything to do with the buildings you've been burning down."

A low chuckle filtered down through the line. "I've been burning the buildings down to get your attention, Agent Eppes. I want you to know that I am serious about my demand. Your brother is simply a means to that end."

Don fought down the nausea that swelled in his stomach. "Well, you have my attention now. What do you want?"

"My cousin has been a guest of yours at one of your maximum security facilities for the past few months, Agent, and I would like to see him released," the man stated. "You have been given a specific allotment of time to accomplish this task, and the clock's ticking. If I do not see my dear cousin standing with you once your time runs out, then you will never see your brother again."

"How do I know you haven't already . . . what proof do I have that you'll let Charlie go?" Don demanded. He tripped on the thought of Charlie already dead, quickly brushing the ugly idea aside.

"Believe me, Agent Eppes, you'll know," the man replied coolly.

An email alert suddenly chimed on Don's screen, and he called up the message. To his shock, an image of Charlie appeared, his wide, fearful eyes staring back at Don. Below Charlie's picture was another number sequence, followed by two words.

_65:33:14_

_Tick tock._

"Oh, and Agent Eppes, don't bother tracing this email or this call," the man continued. "I'm using a scrambler and I'm bouncing signals off of phones all over the world. You'll never find me."

Don looked up at Terry, seeing her shut her phone and shake her head.

"Fine," Don said tersely. "Tell me where and who I need to bring."

Terry watched as Don's expression revealed shock, then barely concealed anger. Her partner hung up his phone and stared at the image of his brother before scrambling through his belongings.

"Don, what did he say?" she demanded.

Don paused and looked up at her. The anger flashed deep in his eyes, surprising her. She had never, in all the years she had known Don, ever seen him so consumed with fury.

"I'm to deliver a convict to New York City and trade him for Charlie," he replied. "If I don't, Charlie dies."

"Who?" Terry demanded.

"It looks like David was closer than any of us thought. Sam Carroway's behind this after all."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Don fidgeted impatiently in his chair for several minutes before finally giving in and rising to his feet. He ignored Terry's questioning look as he began to pace in the small interrogation room, desperate to burn off the excess energy he felt building up.

"How long does it take to escort a prisoner?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"They'll be here any minute," Terry replied calmly. "Don, maybe you should let me do the talking."

Don stopped and rounded on his partner. "Why? Do you think I can't handle this?"

"Did I say that?" Terry shot back. "You're too close to this, Don, and I know how badly you want to find Charlie. Believe me, we all want to get him back. I'm just saying that I may have a better chance of getting Carroway to talk than you, especially with how worked up you are."

Don opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped as the door opened. A figure clad in orange coveralls, whom neither Don nor Terry had seen in several months, entered escorted by two armed guards. Carroway was forced into a chair, where he smiled cheerfully at the two FBI agents.

"Don!" he greeted. "It's been a long time. How's everything? How's your brother?"

Don took a menacing step toward Carroway at the mention of his brother, but Terry stood and blocked his path.

"Oh my, something wrong?" Carroway probed.

"As if you didn't know," Don spat back.

"Don!" Terry hissed. She gave him a warning look, then turned to Carroway. "We've run into a situation that we're hoping you could shed some light on."

"Oh?" Carroway replied. "Do tell."

Terry slid back into her seat and leaned over the table. "It seems that a relative of yours would like to see you out of prison. A cousin, to be specific. He's done a few things to try and get you freed, and we need to know who he is and where he might be."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there," Carroway told her. "I have no idea who could possibly want to get me out of here."

"Lives are at stake, Sam," Terry pressed. "If you cooperate with us, we can get the DA to reduce your sentence. Give us a name."

Carroway's gaze swept over Terry and flickered onto Don's tense form hovering behind her shoulder. The two men stared at each other, neither backing down for several moments.

"Sorry," Carroway said at last. "Your offer's a little too late. I've been behaving myself, and am expecting to get out of here ahead of schedule."

"Ahead of schedule at the expense of my brother! Who is he, Carroway?" Don demanded, no longer able to contain his anger. "Who've you gotten to help you? Tell me, dammit!"

"Don!" Terry exclaimed.

Carroway lifted an eyebrow. "You should learn to control that temper of yours, Don. People are liable to get hurt." He stood and nodded to his armed escort. Halfway to the door, he paused and turned back to Don.

"Too bad about your brother," he said. "I'd hate to think that anything bad would happen to him while his brother's busy chasing down personal vendettas."

A red haze fell over Don's eyes. He wasn't aware of crossing the room, could barely hear his partner's shouts. All he knew was that, suddenly, he had his hands wrapped around Carroway's throat and was squeezing as hard as he could.

Hands fell on Don's shoulders, trying to pry him off of Carroway, but Don ignored them. He had spent too much time trying to control his rage, and now it flowed through him, driving his actions.

"Don! Let him go!" Terry's voice, by his ear, barely registered in his mind.

"You son of a bitch!" Don yelled at Carroway's flushed face, which was starting to turn an interesting shade of purple. "Tell me where my brother is now, or I swear to God-."

Several more guards spilled into the room. It took the combined efforts of three men and Terry before Don was finally pulled away from Carroway. Carroway was led into the hall and away from the interrogation room, but that didn't stop Don from trying to break free to give chase.

Terry moved in front of Don and, grabbing his tie, jerked him down to her eye level. "Don! Get a hold of yourself!"

Don's eyes still smoldered with fury, but he locked gazes with his partner. "You heard him, Terry! You know he's behind this!"

"And thanks to that little outburst of yours, we can't use him to find Charlie!" Terry snapped.

Her words struck Don like a physical blow, and he jerked his head in shock. Pulling away from the hands still restraining him, he sank into a chair and leaned forward. He cradled his head in his hands.

"Hey." Terry gestured for the guards to leave and sat down in a chair beside Don. "Listen, Don, maybe you should go home. You've been on this since it started. You need a break. You'll be no good to Charlie if you're dead on your feet."

Don lifted his head, rubbing his face as he did. His eyes met Terry's once more, only this time they held despair.

"I guess you're right," he said, his voice so soft that Terry had to strain to hear him. "Besides, I . . . I haven't told Dad yet . . . he should know."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Terry asked gently.

Don smiled faintly. "Thanks, but no. I can handle it. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Terry returned his smile and watched him as he rose and walked out of the room, walking as though he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

* * *

Charlie leaned forward as far as the cords would allow, grunting with the effort as he pulled against his bonds in the desperate hope to loosen them. Finally, he fell back against his chair, breathing heavily from the exertion. Once he had recovered his breath, he began to wriggle, coaxing the cords to fall further down his arms.

As he worked, his thoughts strayed to Don. Had his captor contacted his brother already? Did Don know he was missing? Was Don already looking for him?

Charlie fervently hoped that Don knew he was in trouble. He was convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if Don knew Charlie was missing, then Don was already out looking for him. Surely it was only a matter of time before Don found him. In the meantime, he simply had to help Don out by escaping.

The door opened, causing Charlie to freeze. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he prayed that his cords looked untouched to his captor.

The man set his ever-present camera on the table and turned to Charlie. Charlie suppressed a shiver at the calculating look in his captor's pale irises.

"It looks as though your brother has not chosen to follow my instructions," the man stated. "Despite knowing the consequences of his inaction, I'm going to have to send him a little motivation."

Charlie leaned back in his chair as the man approached. "I don't suppose a memo would work," he stated half-heartedly.

The man let out an appreciative chuckle. "I think he'd need a little more persuasion, don't you?"

Charlie swallowed thickly. "Uh . . . wh-what did you have in mind?"

The man's smile widened menacingly. Moving away ever so slightly, he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a metallic object. A flash of yellowish metal glinted in the dim light as the man slipped whatever it was over his fingers and flexed his hand, making a fist.

Charlie felt his heart leap into his throat. "M-Maybe we can talk about this," he stammered. "S-Surely there's another way to make Don listen."

"Probably," his captor admitted. "But this way's a lot more fun."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Don rubbed his eyes wearily, trying to take the sleep away by sheer force of will. He hadn't gone to his apartment after speaking with Terry last night; he had gone to his brother's house to talk to his father.

Alan had greeted him in his usual manner, but he had known from the moment Don had walked in the door that something was the matter. Looking into his father's eyes and watching the horror grow as he explained that Charlie was currently at the mercy of some unknown monster had been one of the hardest things Don had ever had to do in his life.

For a long time, Alan didn't speak a single word. He simply sat in the living room, hunched over with his face in his hands. Don had watched him with a combination of nervousness and guilt, waiting for some sign of emotion from his father other than shock. Finally, just when Don had felt as though he wasn't going to be able to last in the heavy silence any longer, Alan had looked up at Don and recovered some semblance of control.

"Donnie . . . what are you doing to find him?" he asked.

"We-we've got men out in New York scouting for clues as we speak," Don stammered, his eyes skittering to the side. "David's looking at Carroway's background now, hoping to find this cousin. Terry and I . . . we tried to talk to Carroway . . ." Don swallowed the lump in his throat. "We're doing everything we can to find him, Dad, I swear. I've got half the department combing through the arsonist's crime scenes, and the other half's digging through files. I just . . . I wish there was something more I could tell you . . ."

Alan stood and crossed the room to Don's side. Kneeling before his son, he grasped Don's shoulder and squeezed. "I know, Donnie. I know you're doing everything you can. And I believe that you'll find Charlie, and that you'll keep him safe."

It had been that, more than anything, that had caused Don to excuse himself and leave the house as quickly as possible. Don didn't think he could handle his father's unwavering trust and faith in him when he felt responsible for Charlie's predicament in the first place.

After driving around the city aimlessly, Don had returned to his office and had buried himself in his case files, hoping to unearth some clue that the teams had somehow missed. After working through the night, Don was fast approaching the conclusion that he was running out of options.

The lights in the office flickered on, causing Don to squint and shield his eyes against the harsh, fluorescent glare. He nodded absently to the agents filing into the office, then pulled up his email on his computer.

To his surprise, he found that he had another message. With some trepidation, he opened the file.

_53:12:03_

_Time is running out, Agent Eppes. Meet me at Central Park West, tomorrow at 4:00 am, with Sam Carroway or Charlie dies._

Beneath the brief reminder was another scanned photo of Charlie. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes partially closed as though maintaining some precarious grasp on consciousness. Livid bruises shone on his face, and blood trailed down from Charlie's nose and lips, staining his pale skin and shirt. Looking closer at the image, Don could just make out a sheen of tear tracks making their way down Charlie's cheeks.

Hot, bubbling anger rose in Don's stomach. He rose to his feet, seized a nearby paperweight, and hurled it as hard as he could. The paperweight connected with the glass wall of the conference room, causing a cascade of shards. Heads turned in shock, several agents reaching for the weapons as they assessed the potential threat.

Don's breaths were coming in as heavy gasps, his rage clouding his vision. He picked up another object- this one a stapler- and drew his hand back as if to throw it again. A hand clamped down solidly on his wrist, halting the action. Don tried to tug his arm free, but the hand was too strong. The stapler was pried effortlessly from his grasp, and Don was forced into his chair.

David hovered over him, concern on his face. He didn't let go of Don's wrist, not trusting Don to control his anger just yet.

Don took several deep breaths, then looked up at David with a fierceness that sent a chill down the younger agent's spine. "Let . . . me . . . go."

David involuntarily tightened his grip. "Not until you promise not to destroy the office. Other people have to work here too, you know."

Don's eyes slid shut, and he took several more measured breaths. After a few more moments, he opened his eyes and turned once more to David. "I'm okay now, David. You can let go."

David hesitated, searching for any sign of duplicity. Finding none, he released his hold on Don. To his relief, Don merely leaned back in his chair and rubbed his aching wrist absently.

David's eyes slid to the image of Charlie on Don's computer. "I take it you had another message from our arsonist."

"Tell me you have something on him, David," Don said instead. "I could really use some good news right about now."

David retreated to his desk, casting a surreptitious eye around the bullpen as he retrieved a folder. Turning back to Don, he handed the senior agent the folder and began his report.

"I ran that background check on Carroway, and I couldn't find any next of kin or relatives or anything on any of his files," David stated. "I went back over some records and found that our 'cousin' is actually a second cousin, once removed. A Patrick Fischer is listed as the only remaining relative Carroway has. They used to spend their summers together growing up, but grew apart once Carroway went off to pursue his math career. Fischer got work as a fireman out in New York, but was kicked out when cocaine was found in his work locker. He hasn't been able to get work since."

"That explains his knowledge of incendiaries," Don muttered mostly to himself as he flipped through the file. "Have we got a residence on this guy?"

"I already sent our agents to check it out yesterday," David told him. "They found no sign of life. It looks like no one's been there for a year now."

"If they went their own separate ways, then why is Fischer trying so hard to get Carroway out of jail now?" Don wondered aloud. "There must be more to it than that. Has Fischer contacted Carroway since Carroway's been in jail?"

"Carroway hasn't made or received any calls, but I have a friend who says he's been receiving letters," David answered. "We can't tell who they're from, but odds are good it's Fischer."

Don sighed. "Thanks, David. Good work. This definitely helps."

David nodded. "So what's the next course of action?"

Don's eyes slid over to his computer screen, tracing his younger brother's battered form. "I guess . . . we give Fischer exactly what he wants."

* * *

Charlie tugged at the binds at his wrists, grunting in frustration when they refused to move. His whole body ached; since his captor's visit earlier, Charlie had been left on his own. Exactly how much time had passed since his abduction, he wasn't sure, but he believed that Don had to be looking for him by now.

His stomach rumbled in protest; Charlie couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. His captor hadn't thought to provide him with any food or water. He wondered if it was a simple oversight, or if it was an omen. Surely men who planned on returning hostages alive would see to their basic needs. If that was the case, the situation certainly did not bode well for Charlie.

His feet were free; Charlie wondered if that would be of any use to him. If he could somehow at least free himself from his chair, he might have a chance. With a quick glance to the door, Charlie braced his feet against the floor and tried to rise.

It was awkward, trying to stay upright with an old wooden chair strapped to your back and no arms to provide counterbalance. Twice, the chair fell back to the floor with a loud _thud_ as Charlie struggled to maintain his footing. Looking around the dim room, Charlie managed to move slowly to one wall. Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would follow his actions, he swung the chair forcefully against the wall.

It took several tries, but the old chair finally splintered and fell to the floor in several large pieces. Wriggling furiously at the suddenly loosened bonds, Charlie shifted the cords down his rail thin body, pushing them down his hips and onto the floor.

A sudden elation filled him. He was free! Now all he had to do was find a way out of his cell and he would be home free.

The door to the cell was locked, and there were no windows or vents. If Charlie was to escape, he knew it would have to be through his captor. The very idea sent a shiver of fright coursing through him. To have to face off against an armed man with nothing but a chair leg was certainly not something he would ever consider a good idea, but as it was the best option he had, Charlie selected his weapon and hunched down against the door to wait for his captor to return.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

It had taken the better part of the day and miles of red tape, not to mention several favors called into various departments, but Don was relieved when he was finally on the late flight out to La Guardia airport with Carroway sitting beside him, handcuffed securely to Don's right wrist. If there was some way to capture both men, Don would gladly take it, but his priority was his brother's safety. Anything else on top of Charlie being recovered safe and sound would be icing on the cake.

The agents from Don's office were awaiting their arrival, having already obtained secured quarters for their prisoner. They weren't taking any chances. And with the help of the New York field office, Central Park was going to be crawling with agents. If all went according to plan, Charlie would be on his way back to Los Angeles by this time tomorrow.

Don felt eyes on him from across the aisle, and he turned to smile slightly at Terry. Upon learning their plan, she had flat out refused to be left behind. If Don was truthful, he was glad for her presence. Her calm focus was the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

On the other side of Terry sat David, who was flipping mindlessly through a magazine. Don had tried to dissuade him from coming, but David had simply given Don a determined look and said something about looking after one of their own. The sentiment warmed Don's heart, and he had given in. Having both of them there filled the older agent with more confidence than he had any right to feel.

Beside him, Carroway shifted in his seat. "Couldn't loosen these cuffs, could you? They're a little uncomfortable."

Don's eyes snapped to the folder and its contents that he held in his hand. "I could always break out the full body restraints. _Those_ would be something to complain about."

Carroway let out a slight huff. "You know, I haven't been to New York in years. We should do some sight-seeing while we're there."

Don turned a page in the folder, still not looking at Carroway. "The only thing I plan on seeing is you and your cousin behind bars where you both belong."

"Really, Don, I'm not such a bad guy once you get to know me," Carroway stated. "I'm actually quite a hit at parties. I think we'd get along, you and me."

"I make it my business not to associate with criminals," Don shot back, feeling his temper rise again.

Carroway nodded. "I bet it's because of that whole 'me kidnapping Charlie and wiring him to explode' thing. If I hadn't done that, we'd probably have gotten along a lot better."

Don gritted his teeth. "Probably."

"I thought so," Carroway continued, unabashed. "I meant to ask you, Don. What was it like growing up with a brother like yours? I bet it was cause for quite a bit of tension."

Don closed his folder and finally turned to Carroway. "Not quite as much tension as I'm getting just being around you. Now, the way I see it, you've got two options. Either you shut your mouth for the next two days, or I fix it so you can't talk for the next two _months_. I'm not here for your amusement. This isn't a pleasure trip. The only thing keeping me from opening the door and dropping you out of this plane is the fact I need you to get my brother away from your cousin. That's all. So which is it going to be?"

Carroway appeared indifferent to Don's hissed speech. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Don't," was Don's advice.

The rest of the trip was made in silence.

* * *

Sleep was elusive. It seemed ages ago when Don had last gotten a solid night's sleep. While he had ordered his team members to grab a few hours' rest before the meeting, he found that he was unable to do the same. Instead, he sat in a chair by his window, staring out at the city skyline lost in thought.

Where was Charlie? It had been over thirty-six hours since he'd gone missing. Was he all right? Was he scared? Did he know that Don was looking for him?

It seemed as though Don was always pulling Charlie out of some kind of trouble. Though the young genius had never initiated any of it, he always seemed to be at the center of it. Don would admit to himself, in the middle of the night and in the sanctity of his own mind, that he hadn't always been there for his younger brother. Resentful of all the extra attention Charlie had received, he felt as though Charlie deserved some of what he had gotten. He was too sheltered, too naïve; he needed to experience what the real world was like. It was with shame now that Don realized he should have done more to protect Charlie.

Even now, though, all these years later, some part of Don still resented Charlie's abilities. He kept that part pretty well hidden, but every once in a great while it reared its ugly head. But he had done a better job at being a big brother to Charlie. At least, he thought so.

And now?

Don sighed. It was quickly becoming an old argument. He had felt relieved at getting out of his agreement to go with Charlie to the math conference, and that relief now carried the sharp sting of guilt. How could he feel glad to get away from the one person in his life who thought the world of him? Who admired and adored him for no other reason than he was his big brother? It really wouldn't have killed Don to spend a measly week with Charlie in New York.

Not to mention that, if he had gone in the first place, Charlie probably wouldn't have been abducted.

That, Don figured, was probably where all his anger was coming from. As mad as he was at Fischer and Carroway, it paled in comparison to the anger he had for himself and his actions towards Charlie. Knowing this merely fed into the fire that continued to burn inside of Don, and it would smolder and spark until he had Charlie back.

A knock on the door drew Don from his silent reverie. Rising, he crept across the room and, after looking through the peephole, opened the door.

Terry stood on the other side, dressed and ready to go. "It's time."

* * *

Charlie jerked himself back into consciousness at a sound coming from somewhere near his door. He tensed, silently cursing himself for falling asleep. Straining his ears, he listened for the noise again.

Footsteps.

Rising to his feet, Charlie readjusted his grip on the chair leg and moved to the side as his captor unlocked the door. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst. _This was it._

The door opened, and his captor moved into the room, a gun in one hand. He paused, confused, as he stared at the remnants of Charlie's chair.

Charlie waited no longer. He swung the chair leg as hard as he could, bringing it down on the hand that held the gun. The gun clattered to the floor as the man brought his wrist back protectively against his body.

Charlie swung again, connecting with his captor's face. His captor flew back against the wall and sagged, dazed. Deciding not to waist any more time, Charlie leaped into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him. He hunted for some way to lock the door. Finding nothing, he turned and ran as fast as he could down the hall in search of an exit.

* * *

Don shifted his weight from one foot to the next, glancing for what seemed like the hundredth time at his watch. Beside him, Carroway stood patiently, gazing around at his surroundings. Though it seemed as though the two men were alone, both knew that the surrounding trees and paths were being watched by invisible eyes.

Don sighed and shifted his weight again. "He's late."

Carroway smiled humorlessly. "Yeah, that's Patrick, all right."

Don leveled a glare on him, then leaned his mouth close to his lapel. "Terry, you guys see anything yet?"

His partner's voice responded in his ear. "Park's clear, Don. He's probably trying to make you sweat it out."

Don rolled his eyes, but didn't offer a comment. A couple more minutes passed when a sharp ringing caused the two men to jerk in surprise. Scowling, Don fished his cell phone out and flipped it open. "Eppes."

"Don?"

Don felt his blood run cold. "_Charlie_? Charlie, oh my God, where are you? Are you all right? Where's Fischer?"

"Don, I can't talk long," Charlie replied quickly. "I'm at a payphone near the corner of . . . Lexington and Park. Whoever kidnapped me is probably out looking for me by now. Can you send someone to come get me?"

Don beckoned at the trees furiously. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Find someplace safe and keep an eye out for me, all right? I'll be right there, Charlie. Just hang on."

He shut his phone and gave Carroway a shove towards an approaching agent. "Get him back to the hotel and secure him."

Terry ran up to Don. "Don, what's going on?"

"I'll explain on the way," Don told her, pulling her back in the direction of her car. "How fast do you think you can get me to Lexington and Park?"

* * *

Charlie hunched down in his seat, keeping his eye on the payphone he had called Don from. The small coffee shop wasn't very full, and the wait staff was content to leave Charlie on his own. That suited Charlie just fine; all he wanted was to see his brother and go home.

He was slightly surprised that Don was in New York looking for him, but part of him knew that Don would have chased him to the ends of the earth looking for him if necessary. Charlie was relieved, to be honest. He would much rather deal with his brother than complete strangers, which was why he had tried Don's phone before calling the police.

Even at half past four in the morning, there were still quite a few people out and about. Not as many as there would be during the day, or even in the evening, but enough to create small crowds. Charlie's eyes followed one group of people down the street and fell immediately on a familiar lanky form.

His heart skipping in his chest, Charlie rose from his seat and exited the coffee shop, wholly focused on his brother. Don hadn't spotted him yet, though he would soon enough the way he was scanning the streets. Beside him, Terry was doing the same.

Charlie jogged slightly, heading for the corner opposite from the one his brother was standing on. He raised his hand and waved. "Don! Terry!"

Terry spotted him first, and tugged on Don's arm. Don's head whipped around, and a grin threatened to split his face wide open upon spying Charlie. Together, the two agents began to dodge the traffic on their way across the street.

Charlie smiled in relief, glad that his horrible ordeal was over. His relief turned to confusion when, halfway across the street, Don's smile turned into a look of panic and horror. Before Charlie could react, he felt a hand grab his arm in a tight grip. The barrel of what was unmistakably a gun pressed firmly into his side.

"I should kill you right now," his captor hissed into his ear, dragging Charlie away from the corner slowly. "You're quickly becoming more trouble than you're worth."

"Fischer!" Don and Terry had reached the other side of the street and had their weapons drawn, both aiming at what Charlie presumed was his captor's head. "Let him go!"

Charlie tried to tug his arm free, but his captor tightened his grip and jabbed his gun into Charlie's side painfully. "Don't even think about it."

The people walking about the streets were pausing in their tracks, watching the scene with a mixture of disbelief and fear. Don and Terry ignored them, advancing on Fischer and Charlie even as Fischer drew Charlie further away.

"Agent Eppes, I have a gun pointed right at your brother," Fischer stated. "If you don't put your weapons down, I will shoot."

Don cocked the hammer on his gun. "Not before I take you out. Let him go!"

Fischer paused beside a red car that had its engine idling. "You know what I want, Agent Eppes! Where's my cousin?"

"You had your chance, Fischer!" Don shot back, feeling desperation creep into him. "How far do you think you'll get?"

"As far as I need to, Agent," Fischer replied. Deciding that hiding his gun was quite unnecessary at this point, he lifted his weapon and pressed it against Charlie's neck. "Drop your guns and kick them over here. Five."

"Last warning, Fischer!" Terry called.

"Four!"

Charlie's eyes met Don's.

"Three!"

Don's hand was starting to shake ever so slightly, but Charlie could see it. A lead weight seemed to attach itself to his heart. He knew Don wouldn't shoot Fischer. Couldn't.

"Two!"

Terry's eyes flickered from Don to Fischer, too quick for either man to notice. She waited for a signal from Don.

"One!" Fischer cocked the hammer of his weapon and moved to squeeze the trigger."

"All right!" Don shouted, holding his hands up. "Okay, I'm putting it down. Just don't hurt him." He slowly lowered to the ground, leaving his gun at his feet. Her mouth a thin line, Terry followed suit.

"Kick them over here," Fischer ordered.

Don and Terry kicked their guns as one. Don's reached Charlie's foot, but Terry's overshot them and landed on the street under Fischer's car.

Grinning grimly, Fischer relaxed his grip on Charlie. "In the car," he stated.

Charlie hesitated, looking at his brother. Angered by Charlie's lack of movement, Fischer grabbed a handful of Charlie's hair and forced his head back, pressing the gun against Charlie's exposed throat.

"I said get in!" he shouted.

"Leave him alone!" Don bellowed, incensed.

Fischer shoved Charlie against his car and aimed his gun at the younger Eppes. Trembling, Charlie slid into the backseat of the car.

"Oh, one more thing," Fischer said. Moving to quickly for either Don or Terry to react, Fischer leaned in and struck Charlie in the head with his gun. Charlie let out a muted cry and slumped down in the backseat, unconscious.

Don let out a cry of outrage and took a step forward, but Fischer's gun was back up and pointing at him. In the distance, sirens could be heard.

"Careful, Agent Eppes," he said. "Your brother is going to be fine as long as you do exactly what I say. I want to see you and my cousin at the same place, this time, tonight at eleven. Come alone, or I'll make sure you'll never see your brother again."

Don gritted his teeth, anxious to do something. He watched powerlessly as Fischer maneuvered around the car to the driver's side, slid into the seat, and peeled out of the parking lot in a screech of rubber.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Terry watched Don from the corner of her eye, unwilling to make a sound. Ever since losing Charlie, a precarious calm seemed to pervade Don, and Terry couldn't help but feel as though it was the calm before a particularly violent storm. One that she knew was inevitable, but had no desire to witness alone.

The cops had arrived on the scene just over five minutes after Fischer had driven away, and had reacted poorly to finding two federal agents at the center of the disturbance. Federal and city department relations were strained at best most of the time, but with a particularly territorial cop and a distraught older brother, it had taken every bit of training Terry had to keep Don from alienating the NYPD from the FBI. Since then, Don had barely spoken two words.

Don's hand abruptly shot out, striking the rental car's dashboard so fiercely that it caused Terry to jump.

"Hey!" she said indignantly. "Take it easy, will you? I'd like to get my deposit back."

"We had him!" Don shot back, ignoring the attempt at levity. "Dammit, Terry, he was _right there_ in front of us!"

"I know," Terry replied quietly.

Don continued as if he hadn't heard Terry's voice. "I swear . . . when I get my hands on him . . ."

He let the threat hang in the air, lapsing back into silence. Terry didn't bother to offer any words of comfort. She was worried about Charlie, too, and knew that the usual placations would fall on deaf ears.

She guided the car towards their hotel, finding a parking spot fairly quickly. She followed Don into the hotel, neither speaking as the weight of their failure saturated the air surrounding them. The elevator ride was brief, but when the doors slid open, both agents knew that something was amiss.

Drawing their weapons, they crept down the hall towards the rooms they had blocked off for their purposes. The door to the room where Carroway had been held was slightly ajar. Cautiously, Don pushed the door open and swept his gun around the room.

David and Emily White, another agent from Don's office, were just coming around. Don and Terry crouched by them, helping them to their feet.

"What happened?" Don demanded. "Where's Carroway?"

"He surprised us," White replied, wincing and rubbing her aching head.

"Surprised you?" Terry echoed, confused.

David nodded, then met Don's eyes. "He was in the bathroom. He managed to get out of his cuffs . . . I'm not sure how. After Adams and Larson left to report to the New York office, he came out and hit us with a towel rod. Don . . . I'm sorry."

Don lightly squeezed David's shoulder, feeling a sinking feeling in his gut.

White looked at the two. "Hey . . . weren't you guys supposed to go get Charlie? Where is he?"

Don turned away from his agents, unable to look at anyone. Terry took pity on him and answered.

"Fischer found him first," she said quietly. "We couldn't stop him."

White swore softly and David closed his eyes. Don moved over to the window, his mind reeling.

Carroway was gone . . . and with him went any chance of getting Charlie back.

* * *

Charlie came to with a start. The abrupt movement sent a stab of white-hot pain through his skull, and he fell back, lying still until the feeling passed. When the stars receded from his eyes, he looked around.

He was back in his cell, bound once more hand and foot. Instead of being tied to a chair, Charlie was left lying in a heap on the floor. A strip of duct tape was fastened around his mouth, preventing him from uttering so much as a sound.

Charlie closed his eyes and fought back the tears of frustration that had risen. He had been so _close_ . . . Don had been just feet away . . .

He didn't blame his brother. He knew Don would never do anything to put him in danger. But Charlie couldn't help but wish that Don had found some way to stop Fischer. He was tired of this . . . he wanted to go home . . .

The door to his cell opened, and Charlie looked up. He felt his heart stop in his chest as he met the eyes of the last person in the world he had ever wanted to see again.

"Hello, Charlie," Sam Carroway greeted pleasantly. "It's been quite some time."

* * *

"Where would they go?" Don asked. "Where would they meet? They both used to live here when they were younger. I want a list of properties for either Fischer or Carroway or some relative of theirs. Let's go!"

Don's agents dispersed amongst the New York agents, intent on finding the information Don needed. Terry and David moved closer to confer with the senior agent.

"You think we'll hear from Fischer now?" David asked.

Don shook his head. "I'm sure Carroway's met up with Fischer by now. Now that Fischer's got what he wants, he won't need Charlie anymore. That doesn't give us much time."

"Maybe Fischer will let Charlie go," David offered weakly, not really believing his own words.

Don smiled gratefully. "I hope he will, but I can't afford to take that chance. The sooner we figure out where they are, the better off we'll be."

"Agent Eppes!"

The three agents turned as Ben Adams hurried across the room to them, carrying a file. "We ran a background check when we first got Fischer's identity. It came back with a list of his assets, which we all checked out, but on a hunch I asked for a check on all assets of Fischer's relatives. I just got the results back."

"And?" Don demanded, feeling his excitement rise.

"Fischer's grandmother went back to her maiden name when her husband passed on," Adams reported. "She died about three months ago, leaving her estate just outside the city to Patrick McClellan. McClellan was his mother's name, which is why it missed our original check."

"And that might very well be where he's holding Charlie," Terry stated.

"Good work," Don said. "Get everyone available and let's get out there before they move."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Charlie shrank back from Carroway's form as the convict approached, a gun in one hand. Carroway paused, an amused look on his face.

Fischer slipped into the room around Carroway, an annoyed look on his face. "Why are we wasting time?" he demanded. "We need to get out of here before the feds descend on this place like the wrath of God!"

"We've got time," Carroway assured him. "Besides; Don won't try anything funny. Not while we still have his little brother."

Fischer snorted. "Just how far do you think you can push him?" he demanded. "Let's get rid of him and go! I've got our next place ready; we just need to get moving."

Carroway lifted an eyebrow, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Charlie shuddered as fear coiled in his gut.

"Patrick, I will not be rushed," he stated coolly. "This is an old score I have to settle."

"So settle it on your own time!" Fischer snapped, unaware of the approaching danger. "Have you forgotten what I did to get you out of prison? If it weren't for me, you'd still be rotting in that jail cell! You owe me, Sam."

"You're right, Patrick," Carroway agreed. "I _do_ owe you."

Without missing a beat, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

The deafening blast in the cramped room caused Charlie to flinch violently. His brown eyes stared in horror as he watched the bullet enter through Fischer's right eye and exit messily out the back of his head. He couldn't look away as Fischer slowly sank to the ground and keeled over just feet away from Charlie.

Carroway sighed and shook his head. "I appreciate the effort, cousin, but you always were an idiot." He turned to Charlie. "I'd like to just kill you now and be done with it, but I'm sure Don's on his way. I doubt he'd let me go if he thought you were dead."

Charlie flinched again as Carroway stooped down in front of him, unbinding his ankles. It took everything Charlie had not to become violently ill against his gag as Carroway lifted him to his feet and forced him out of the room.

Carroway led him silently through the hall that Charlie dimly remembered passing on his escape route, guiding the young genius into the bright morning sunlight. The car that had taken Charlie away from Don was waiting for them, the trunk hanging open. Charlie noted the wires that ran the length of the trunk, and the ominous device blinking at him from the lid.

Carroway continued to push Charlie to the car, then forced him into the trunk at gunpoint. It was awkward trying to climb in with his hands bound tightly behind his back, but in the end, he simply flopped inside. Tucking his gun into his belt, Carroway rebound Charlie's ankles with duct tape, then grinned brightly.

"I wouldn't move around too much, if I were you," he told Charlie. "I've wired this entire car to explode by the simple push of a button. You'd better pray that Don lets us pass."

Carroway's sick smile was the last thing Charlie saw before the darkness enveloped him.

* * *

Don was sitting on the edge of his seat as Terry sped through town, dodging traffic with the ease of a veteran racecar driver. The sirens of the long line of police cars pierced the air, warning everyone to move out of the way. There were several close calls with bicyclists and daredevil motorists, but as the police escort grew, there were less attempts to dart past them.

The traffic thinned as they left the main part of the city, heading into the wealthier suburbs. Don could feel the tension mounting with each passing second; he was on the hunt. They were on the right track. He could _feel_ it.

The first of the caravan squealed to a halt in front of a familiar red sedan that had just turned onto the street from the driveway of an elegant old two-story home. The next couple cars spun around the back of the red sedan before it could make its escape in reverse, effectively boxing the car in. Don was up out of his seat before Terry brought the car to a complete stop. His gun was in his hand, pointing right at Carroway. Fischer was nowhere to be seen, and Don had a nasty feeling about Charlie's captor's whereabouts.

"Carroway!" he bellowed over the last of the sirens, moving closer to the sedan. "Turn the engine off and put your hands where I can see them!"

"Keep back, Don, unless you want to see your little brother go up in smoke!" Carroway called back.

* * *

Charlie held his breath in anxious anticipation. The car had stopped, and voices could be heard shouting at one another. Two of them stood out to the bound mathematician. One was the voice of his captor; the other belonged to his older brother.

Charlie's heart pounded so hard in his chest he felt as though it would burst at any second. Don had found him. Don had come to help him. Any minute now, the trunk would be lifted, and Don would be there, helping him out. The relief swept through him so heavily that Charlie felt slightly lightheaded. He strained his ears, hoping to catch some stray words coming from the front of the car.

* * *

"Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the car!" Don ordered, his voice strained with the anger, frustration, and fear from the past few days. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Carroway's throat and slowly squeeze the life out of him. The memory of doing just that only a few days before flashed through Don's mind, and he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Feeling Carroway's pulse slow beneath his fingers . . . seeing his face slowly turn blue . . .

Don mentally shook himself, suddenly disgusted with the path his thoughts had taken. He had never thought himself to be so cold-blooded, but the past few days spent worrying and agonizing over Charlie had certainly taken their toll. Did his little brother's kidnapping really evoke such strong, violent feelings within Don?

Suddenly, the only thing Don cared about was seeing Charlie again. He would deal with Carroway, most assuredly, but Don just wanted to make sure that Charlie was all right.

Carroway smirked at Don from the driver's seat of his car. "We just can't stop meeting like this, can we Don?" he asked. "What does that tell you?"

"It tells me that you have exactly five seconds to get out of the car before I drag you out myself," Don shot back. "Get out of the car!"

Carroway's face suddenly hardened, and for the first time since Don had known him, he looked deadly. Lethal.

"Agent Eppes, you and your men _will_ move back and let me pass," Carroway stated, his tone so cold it sent chills down Don's spine. "Do not forget that I have your brother, and that I will _not_ hesitate in killing him."

Don swallowed thickly; the only sign he was nervous. "Get out of the car, Carroway. I won't ask you again."

Carroway and Don's eyes locked, each man staring hard at the other, looking for any sign of weakness. Time seemed to slow around them, inching forward with each strained breath that was drawn.

Ever so slowly, Carroway's right arm moved, his hand reaching out to a knob on the dashboard of the vehicle. A slight smile curved his lips, and Don knew with startling certainty what he was about to do.

"Hands where I can see them!" he barked suddenly. "I will shoot!"

Carroway's smile widened slightly, but he didn't stop. One finger was extended, hovering over a knob that controlled the radio.

"Remember, Don," he said, his voice calm once more. "This could have all been prevented."

As Carroway began to press the knob, Don's finger tightened on the trigger. A single shot echoed in the parking lot, causing the surrounding agents to tense in anticipation.

Don's bullet had found its target. Blood blossomed on Carroway's forehead, staining his upholstery a deep crimson. He was slumped back in his seat, his smile forever frozen on his face.

The agents cautiously converged on the vehicle, not relaxing their guard for one second. Don glanced around at the faces nearest him, finally landing on David.

"David!" he called. "Get the bomb squad out here to go over this car. Make sure it isn't wired, then pop the trunk!"

* * *

The sudden burst of bright light blinded Charlie, causing him to squint up at the dark figure silhouetted before him. The noise he had heard earlier had died away long moments before, and he wasn't sure what was going on now. He hadn't heard Don's voice for sometime, and the gunshot that had brought silence had also brought horrible images of his brother's still form, sightless eyes staring back at him. Charlie tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, but with each passing minute, they were harder to ignore.

Charlie heard a soft curse from the silhouette and could just make out a hand reaching for him. Unsure of who was looming over him, he flinched and tried to pull away.

"Charlie, take it easy," a familiar voice said. "It's me. David. I'm gonna have you out of there in a second."

Charlie allowed the words to wash over him as he relaxed. His heart still pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to try and relax. David was here. That meant Don was, too.

Strong hands freed Charlie from his bonds and pulled him from the trunk. Having spent so long bound and gagged, not to mention stuffed in the trunk, the feeling had left Charlie's limbs. He leaned heavily against David, trying desperately to clear his muddled mind.

"Charlie!"

Hands suddenly pulled him away from David, and Charlie found himself pressed firmly against cotton and Kevlar. His brother's arms were wrapped tightly around him in a hug.

"Thank God . . . Charlie, Buddy, you okay?" Don demanded.

Charlie nodded into Don's shoulder. "I'm fine, Don. Where's . . . where's Carroway?"

Don's grip tightened protectively. "He's not going to hurt you anymore. Trust me."

Charlie wasn't quite sure how to take that, but he didn't press further. He allowed Don to tug him away from the car, away from Carroway. He was dimly aware of red and blue lights flashing in his eyes, and of people swarming around the area, but it all became a blur. The only thing he was sure of were his brother's arms around him, guiding his steps across the pavement.

Don was concerned at Charlie's lack of speech. His cursory exam had led him to believe that Charlie was all right, but now he was wondering if that wasn't the case. He veered away from a waiting squad car to an ambulance that had just pulled up. The fact that Charlie didn't offer a protest at this new destination only served to heighten Don's anxiety.

A young man with light blond hair and brown eyes smiled welcomingly at the brothers as they drew nearer to the waiting ambulance. "Afternoon, gentlemen. Is there something I can help you with?"

Don pushed Charlie down on the bumper of the ambulance. "Check him out, would you?"

Charlie offered only a token resistance to the medic's examination, but he lacked the energy to continue. He sat, still and silent, as he was looked over, dimly aware of his brother's watchful eyes. As soon as the medic declared him all right, he looked up at Don.

"Can we go home now?" he asked.

Don helped his brother to his feet. "Yeah. Buddy. Let's get home."


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

"Charlie! Oh, thank God!"

Don was just helping Charlie out of the car when Alan came running out of the house. Don managed to move out of the way just in time; Alan seized his youngest and pulled him into a fierce hug, squeezing all of the breath out of Charlie's body. Charlie returned the embrace weakly. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep for a week.

The plane ride home from New York had been spent entirely in silence. Charlie had managed to doze off for some of it, but he slept so fitfully that Don doubted it could even be counted as rest. He himself had been unable to sleep, feeling as though his job wasn't finished until Charlie was back at home where he belonged.

Alan pulled back and cradled Charlie's face in his hands, closely studying his son for any signs of mistreatment. His sharp eyes catalogued each new bump and bruise. "Are you all right? Did you go to the hospital? Maybe we should run you over to the emergency room, just to be sure."

"Dad, take it easy," Don said, coming to Charlie's rescue. "I had the medics at the scene check him over, top to bottom. They said he was fine."

Alan frowned at Don, but began to tug Charlie towards the house. "Are you sure? We could make a quick trip, in case they missed something."

"Dad, I'm okay," Charlie told him. "Just tired."

"Then let's get you upstairs to bed, huh?" Alan quickly ushered Charlie into the house and to the stairs. Don followed behind, a small smile gracing his lips.

Alan fussed over Charlie all the way through the house, up the stairs, and into Charlie's room. Charlie didn't make a single comment; he merely let Alan get on with it. As soon as he saw his bed, he headed straight for it. Kicking off his shoes, he crawled under the blankets, fully clothed, and closed his eyes. Before succumbing to his exhaustion, he felt his father's hand on his head, brushing his hair from his eyes. The touch sent a wave of comfort and security through Charlie, carrying him into slumber.

Alan felt more than saw Charlie fall asleep, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief. He leaned over and kissed Charlie on the forehead, then turned and crept out of the room, shooing Don with him. As soon as the door was closed, he rounded on his eldest.

"Where did that maniac have Charlie?" he demanded. "What did he want? Did he do anything to Charlie? Where is he now?"

Don held up his hands against the flow of questions. "Dad, Dad, one question at a time. I can't tell you too much right now; I haven't been debriefed, so this is still technically an active case. But I _will_ tell you that Charlie's fine, and the guys who took them are never going to hurt him again."

Alan heaved a deep sigh of relief, then turned a critical eye on Don. "And you? How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Don assured him. "Actually, now that Charlie's safe and sound, I think I'll go back home and get a good night's sleep."

"Why don't you stay here for the night?" Alan offered. "The guest room's all fixed up and ready for you."

Don glanced back at Charlie, then smiled wearily at his father. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you had this planned out since my phone call earlier."

Alan smiled. "Who, me? Go on and get into bed. I'll wake you boys for dinner, okay?"

Don nodded and left, visions of warm blankets and soft pillows already dancing in his head. Alan watched him turn into the guest room, then went back into Charlie's room.

Charlie was already beginning to twist in his bed, his face a mask of fear. Sitting gently on the bed beside his youngest, Alan brushed Charlie's hair back again. He contented himself to watch over Charlie's slumber, prepared to chase away the nightmares as they came.

**The End**

* * *

Thanks to everyone for being so patient with me while I finished this. Hope you like it. :)


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